Enganchada

What a month I have. I found a teaching job, I'm moving to my favorite neighborhood and former building, my son is finally (when I find one we like with a reasonable waiting list) going to school... And what do I do in my busiest month in three years? I get hooked into a novel. A novel I actually intended not to read. It's the first of a trilogy that has been huge in Spain for the last three years. The author is Swedish, Stieg Larsson, and the name of the trilogy is Millennium. The title of the first novel in English is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, much better translated into Spanish as Los hombres que no amaban a las mujeres. At first I refused to read it as I do with most best sellers. But I eventually always end up falling for them, even The Da Vinci Code, four years late. But this one is actually really good, specially if you like mystery novels, as I do. I liked it so much that I destroyed it, as I have been doing with long books since I had little L. On Saturday I stayed up until 2 am skipping through it. I don't skip pages, I just read the central column of every page until I reach the end. It's a visual trick, you just need some words to understand a text.
Going back to real life, I'm going to start teaching at a local private university in two weeks. Spanish 101 and 104. I'm excited, because I haven't worked in almost three years. And scared. Do I still remember how to teach? How is L going to do in daycare? I feel like a traitor, sending him there, but we think he will be happy surrounded by other kids. He enjoys playing with other children in the park, and in Chicago in the Winter, there is no park.
I will post about the move another day, because the lease hasn't been signed yet and we don't want to jinx it.
But if you have a few hours available, try the book.
Back to life.

Letters

And I don't refer to the ones I'm trying to teach my son. I'm talking about the kind you put in an envelope, and post through the mail, with a stamp on it. I am one of those weird people who still prefer letters to e-mail. It may be the hopeless romantic hiding at the bottom of my self. But there is something in the whole process that makes me happy. From picking up the paper and the envelope, the pen I'm going to use (and I still use fountain pens), placing a pretty stamp on it, and taking it to the mailbox, whether it is a blue USPS one, a yellow one for Correos or my favorite, the red Royal Mail. Letters are so personal... You have to put your time and effort in them, inside that envelope. It's easier to communicate your feelings through them. And there are not many things that make me as happy as seeing another envelope with my name on it in my own mailbox. The electronic experience has nothing to do against the paper one (said the blogger, in an ironic twist). So, all of you, go get pen and paper, and start... It's relaxing. And cheaper than a mani-pedi. And it will make someone happy. You don't need to go to Paper Source. CVS will do.

Blogging bug

I haven't written in a while. I have been busy, or stressed, I guess. My year so far can be summarized in: a very long winter, two miscarriages, an exhausting trip, three months worth of visitors and a job. The last one looks promising, and it may be a sign that things are going to start to go better. We didn't have a lucky year so far. In three weeks I will leave stay at home mommyhood to become a part time teacher of Spanish in a local University. I can't wait. I haven't taught in almost three years, and that makes me a little uneasy, but the mere thought of being able to use my commute to read excites me. Beyond believe. It will be only twice a week for a couple of hours, but it's a good start, specially in the middle of a recession and with a two year gap in my CV. We may also move back to my beloved Lincoln Park, but that is pending. I need to leave this place, which I think is taking all the energy I had left, which was not much t start with.
Why did the blogging bug attack? I went to watch Julie and Julia with a friend tonight, and I just couldn't resist all that typewritting, as I couldn't resist all that smoking, and I wouldn't have resisted all that beef bourgignon if I had been able to find a place that served it at midnight in Chicago. I briefly played with the idea of going to a Borders, getting the book, and cooking it myself, but last time I checked there were no emergency butchers around. This is not New York, or Tokyo or London. If it's midnight, you just got to McDonald's. I resisted that, at least. I guess I'm back. And this time it better is for good.